


Beneath the Moon

by RileyC



Series: Love & Bullets [2]
Category: Agent Pendergast Series - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
Genre: Community: schmoop_bingo, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:57:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for the prompt: candlelight dinner, and finds the guys enjoying a romantic evening, with lobster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "A Quiet Evening."

Feeling like he was following a trail of bread crumbs, Vincent peeled another Post-It note off the wall of the Beaux Arts mansion and followed the arrow pointing along the hallway to a door that stood ajar. Another note was affixed to it, simply instructing: UP.

This wasn't the first time Vincent had wondered if a few of Pendergast's marbles had made a break for it, but - he nudged the door back further, felt a draft of cool, evening air wafting down - as Pendergast craziness went, this looked harmless enough. He headed up, climbing a metal, spiral staircase that wound ever upward, letting him off just below another door, cracked open to allow for that faint breeze, and a sliver of light. Up two more steps, and Vincent pushed the door open all the way, needing to pause and take a moment to drink in the scene before him.

He was on the roof of the Beaux Arts mansion, four stories above the street, in a little niche set back from the widow's walk and looking out over the Hudson. What looked like about a hundred candles providing a soft glow as the sun set, and illuminating a small table draped with fine linen and set with fine china for two.

"Ah," Pendergast said, eerily stepping out of the shadows, "you found your way."

"Yeah, you marked it pretty good."

"I hoped so. Still, it isn't difficult to take a wrong turning in this house," Pendergast said.

Vincent could well believe that. He understood the mansion was modeled after Maison de la Rochenoir, the old Pendergast home in New Orleans, nothing but a memory now after being burned to the ground. That Pendergast felt an attachment to this mirror version on Riverside Drive was natural enough, but on the whole, the place still kind of gave Vincent the creeps.

"So," he looked around again, at the setting, some kind of classical music playing quietly, a cart bearing several covered dishes tucked away in a corner, "what's the occasion?" he asked, strolling over to join Pendergast at the widow's walk, looking out at the view.

Glancing at him, Pendergast's lean shoulders lifted in an offhand way. "It's Thursday?"

"Well, yeah," Vincent smiled, "only comes around once a week."

Pendergast nodded. "A much underappreciated day."

Standing there in companionable quiet, their shoulders brushing, Vincent watched night settle over the city, distant lights popping out like a swarm of fireflies. It was still summer, but there was a trace of autumn in the air, refreshing after what had been a long, hot August day. Celebrating Thursday sounded good to him.

This had been an eventful summer on several levels. After a lot of back-and-forth struggling with writer's block, mostly having to battle and overcome a fear of failure, Vincent had finally committed to going ahead with a sequel to _Angels in Purgatory_. He still wasn't convinced anything would really come of it, but it was interesting digging up details on the Speakeasy Slayer case, the Jazz Age cold case that would be integral to Corelli and Quinn's modern day investigation. If nothing else, it provided a sometimes necessary distraction when his altered relationship with Pendergast overwhelmed him a bit.

That had started in the spring, actually, a stormy weekend that had started out as just two guys watching movies and eating pizza, and finished up with them falling in love.

And it still kind of blew Vincent's mind.

Him - and Pendergast? There were mornings he woke up, convinced he must have dreamed it. Some of those mornings, though, he'd roll over and proof of its being real would be stretched out beside him. Sometimes a pair of silvery blue eyes would be gazing back at him as if Pendergast was sorting out reality too, trying to work out how this had happened.

Some mornings, after Pendergast had slipped away, Vincent had wondered if that would be it, then, if this unexpected interlude was over. And then Pendergast would call him and make plans to see him later - and somewhere along the way everything had settled into place, comfortable as an old sweatshirt.

Curiosity finally getting the better of him, Vincent asked, "So how'd you get all this stuff up here?"

"There's a dumbwaiter."

Vincent doubted that device had ever previously been put to use for anything like a dinner party, but that wasn't a path he especially wanted to investigate this evening. Nor, he suspected, did Pendergast want to dwell on that.

"Are you hungry?" Pendergast asked, starting over to the elegant, yet cozy seating area.

"Little bit. What've you got?"

"Maine lobster," Pendergast removed the cover from one of the dishes, "flown in this morning."

Nodding his approval, Vincent said, "Sounds good," and took the seat indicated, watching as Pendergast carefully arranged a plate and set it before him. "What do you want to do for Labor Day?" he asked, digging into the melt-in-your-mouth lobster. "Want me to stock up movies?"

"As enjoyable as that would be, I thought we might get out of the city for a few days. If that would be agreeable?" Pendergast gave Vincent an inquisitive look.

Feeling a bit wary, Vincent asked. "Business or pleasure?" Not that he'd dig in his heels and refuse to get dragged off into some investigation Pendergast found 'interesting,' but it wasn't exactly what he'd been looking forward to.

"Only pleasure, I would hope," Pendergast said, something sultry in his Southern drawl that made Vincent's breath catch for a moment, suddenly feeling as warm as if it were high noon.

Yeah, that old sweatshirt was plenty comfortable - but sometimes it got a little extra toasty.

A stray breeze cooling his face, Vincent asked, as casually as he could, "What'd you have in mind?"

"I thought we might rent a cabin where there's some good fishing--"

"You hate fishing."

"I don't _hate_ fishing," Pendergast savored a bite of lobster, "I merely find it somewhat less stirring than, for example, watching paint dry," he said, lips twitching with a slight smile. "However," he continued, "I believe I can find something to occupy myself while you outwit the trout, and that we could both do with some quiet and solitude."

Vincent couldn't argue with that - and decided to let the crack about the trout go. "Sounds good to me."

"Excellent."

~*~

The lobster had been consumed, and they were enjoying the view once more, Pendergast asking, "Have you ever slept under the stars, Vincent?"

"Not lately no," Vincent said, letting out a sigh as Pendergast's arms slipped around him from behind, and a deeper one as lips ghosted along the nape of his neck. "You got something in mind?"

"Let us say," Pendergast ran a caressing hand up Vincent's chest, "it is something I look forward to, come Labor Day."

"Yeah? You've been putting a lot of thought into this?"

"It _is_ somewhat more pleasurable," Pendergast nuzzled his ear, unbuttoning Vincent's shirt and sliding a hand beneath the soft cloth, lightly rubbing bare skin, "than working out the twists and turnings of the criminal mind."

Vincent's breath caught as fingers caught at a nipple, nails scratching. "Yeah, I can see how it would be," he murmured, turning in Pendergast's arms, reaching to draw the fine-featured face close enough to kiss his mouth.

If Pendergast had proposed sleeping together under the stars right here, Vincent suspected he could have easily been persuaded. All the same, he was grateful when Pendergast, between lingering kisses, suggested they go back downstairs.

~*~

"So, how's that fantasy of yours go?" Vincent asked two weeks later.

"Something like this," Pendergast said, tugging him down on the soft, warm blanket spread out on the ground.

Fall was making firm inroads up here, so far away from the city, and there was a brisk current in the evening air. Cold was about the last thing Vincent felt, however, as Pendergast's eager hands stripped him bare, almost ripping the flannel shirt off him and dragging his t-shirt roughly over his head, tossing them over on the grass.

He was only impatient to get Pendergast in the same state.

Wood smoke scenting the air, they warmed each other with fevered touches and scorching kisses, naked bodies entangled under a star-filled sky.

"Good fantasy," Vincent breathed out as he was wrestled onto his back.

Something deliciously wicked in his smile, Pendergast said, "My dear Vincent, I've barely gotten started," between languorous, searing kisses trailing down Vincent's chest and stomach.

Yeah, alternately clutching handfuls of blanket and blond hair, hardly able to keep still, Vincent saw what he meant - and he would have sworn the stars overhead all exploded right along with the pleasure bursting through his body.

the end


End file.
